Drunken Git Edition
by Lady Silverbird
Summary: The Doctor wakes up with a wicked hangover and no memory of the night before. Hilarity and trouble ensue. Read, enjoy, and please review.


**A/N: credit for this prompt goes to TheDoctor'sStrawberry, a new writer and friend of mine. Total fluff piece, just a bit of fun. Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, but I do wish that I owned David Tennant.**

* * *

Blinding, throbbing pain in his skull. Queasy roiling in his stomach. The Doctor let out a sickly moan and tried to pry open his heavy eyes. He closed them just as quickly, though, the soft lighting of his bedroom assaulting his oversensitive retinas. Very slowly and gingerly, he pushed himself up into a crumpled yet technically upright position, cradled his throbbing head in both hands, and tried to remember what exactly had happened last night and how he'd gotten back to his room.

He remembered going to the pub with Martha and Jack for a round - they _had_ just saved the world, after all. After a few pints, they'd somehow traipsed back to the TARDIS without getting arrested for public drunkenness. Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. His two companions might have been celebrating, but he was also trying to drown his sorrows. With the Master gone, he was now the only Time Lord left, the last of his species. No. Couldn't think about that now. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then winced at the lance of pain the movement sent into his brain. As he slowly lifted his head, he realised that his tie was knotted around his head, and that his shirt was misbuttoned. And where was his other shoe? Groaning, he reached up to massage the pain out of his temples. Time Lords were known to have very short but incredibly painful hangovers.

Looking up, he saw there was a tall glass of water, a plate of crackers, and an open laptop on his desk, waiting for him. A sense of dread coiled low in his stomach beside the nausea. Cautiously, he scooted closer, picking up the plate of crackers; nibbling on one, he reached out and hesitantly clicked the _play_ button on the screen.

It was a YouTube video; the caption underneath read _TGIF, Drunken Git Edition_. First it was just a black screen, but then words appeared: _Warning: what you are about to see may cause uncontrollable laughter, temporary blindness and/or deafness. Viewer discretion is advised. _The Doctor frowned, slightly confused, and then the actual video began to play, complete with sound. As he watched, the crackers slipped out of his fingers to the floor, his face frozen in an expression of horror but then it quickly changed to anger. Ignoring his fading headache and still-uneasy stomach, he surged to his feet and bellowed, _"Marthaaaa! Jaaaack!"_

* * *

Hunkering down in a shadowy corner of the TARDIS's many, many rooms, Martha Jones and Jack Harkness both sniggered into their hands at the sound of the Doctor shouting their names, closely followed by footsteps storming through the TARDIS. Displayed on the screen in the opposite wall, the same YouTube page was pulled up.

On the video, the Doctor was climbing up onto a table, losing his left shoe in the process; Jack reached out to steady him, but the alien brushed his hand away, declaring in a loud, drunkenly imperious voice, "I am a Time _Lord_; I don't need _shoes_!" He made a ridiculous sight, his tie knotted around his head like a headband, shirt untucked and misbuttoned. Then, holding the sonic screwdriver like it was a microphone, he began to sing - or rather, _howl_ - Katy Perry's _TGIF_ at the top of his lungs, doing something that dimly resembled dancing. The Doctor had been entirely smashed at the time and hadn't noticed the small camcorder in Martha's hand during his, erm, _performance_.

"He's doin' well. Five hundred thousand views already," she told Jack with a smile. Echoing throughout the corridors of the TARDIS, she could hear the Doctor shouting that they were in _so much trouble, Daleks will seem like a walk in the park in comparison!_ "When do you think we should come out of here?" she asked quietly.

He risked a peek out of their hiding place, then shut the door with a smile. "When the steam stops coming out of his ears," he replied; she giggled into her hands. "Don't worry, he'll let you off easy; he likes _you_. It'll be me that he chews out. He can't kill me, but he can make me suffer for damn sure. Just tell him it was all my idea."

"Erm, Jack? It _was_ all your idea," she reminded him.

He smiled that cocky grin of his. "Then it all works out in the end, doesn't it?"

Martha rolled her eyes in exasperation. Sudden light spilled into the dark room as the door swung open. The Doctor stood in the doorway, hands planted on his hips; they looked up at him like embarrassed children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. He'd taken the tie off his head and half-tucked in his shirt, so he didn't look as ridiculous. His shoe was still missing, though. "You two - " He jabbed a finger at Martha, then at Jack. " - are in serious trouble right now. I've of a mind to have you scrub the TARDIS from top to bottom with a toothbrush. But I won't. I'm still hung-over enough to consider mercy. Martha, hop off to the kitchen, make us some lunch, yeah? Nothing with pears, I _hate_ pears. Jack, you can start cleaning out the library. I want all the books in alphabetical order by author," he ordered.

Jack let out a miserable groan. "Told you so," he grumbled to her as he passed by, heading towards the mess of the library. Martha bit her lip on a smile and headed for the kitchen to do as the Doctor asked.

From the console room, the Doctor shouted, "And one of you take down that damned video!"


End file.
